Apply Heat
by RochelleRene
Summary: Season 7 Huddy during a Jersey heat wave.
**Apply Heat**

It was hot. All over Jersey, people were dealing with the July heat wave in creative ways. Adults were sprawling in backyard kiddie pools; people were filling bathtubs with ice to soak their feet; restaurant workers were taking breaks in kitchen refrigerators.

Malcolm was sitting in front of the air conditioning vent in his gym after a long swim. He watched his skin raise in goosebumps. He started to actually shiver, but continued sipping his ice tea, as if he could store the cold for the walk home to his un-air-conditioned apartment. His phone rang and he answered it through chattering teeth.

"Are you okay?" his friend Matt asked. "You sound messed up."

Malcolm laughed. "I'm intentionally freezing myself at the gym before I go home."

"Dude, me too. I just stood in an ice cold shower for an hour. But don't bother, bro. Melanie just called. Her parents are out of the country for two weeks and we are going to their beach house for the weekend. Their air-conditioned beach house."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. So pack a bag and get your ass over here so we can leave," Matt pressed.

"I have class tomorrow."

"Dude. No one cares. It's so hot, professors aren't even showing up to classes. Why the hell are you taking a spring term class anyway?" He waited while Malcolm deliberated. "If you don't have an exam, just tell your prof you're sick. C'mon man. It's a great way to celebrate our nation's independence! It's a holiday weekend. There will be tons of beach parties. Don't be a pussy."

"I'm coming, I'm coming. You had me at air-conditioned." Malcolm had already left the gym and was walking in the 110 degree heat back to his apartment. "I actually should just head over. I have my swimsuit, which is all I'm gonna need," he joked. There was silence. "Dude, hello?" More silence. "Yo, Matt, what the fuck?" When he got no response, he hung up and texted as he continued walking. _Way to say bye, bro. I'll be there in thirty. Cool?_

As he continued walking, his phone rang again and he answered it without looking. "What was that about, douchbag?" But it wasn't Matt. It was Melanie.

"Malcolm, I'm freaking out."

"What?"

"I'm at Matt's and he's, like, passed out. He's on the floor."

"Is he breathing?"

"Yes, but…" She trailed off.

"Melanie, hang up and call 911."

 **[H] [H] [H]**

House rolled over when he heard Cuddy's alarm go off and threw an arm across her torso. "Don't go," he muttered into the pillow. Cuddy sighed, but smiled at the ceiling.

"I have to," she groaned. "Some of us still have things to do before the long weekend."

House turned his head and grinned mischievously at her. "Three whole days to do nothing but be naked, drink scotch, and eat ice cream."

"I hate scotch."

"Hence the ice cream." He pulled her closer and started sneaking a hand up her short nightie. "Let's start early," he murmured into her neck. Cuddy moaned lightly and House was just easing his leg over her when the bedroom door burst open.

"Where is Magenta?" Rachel asked.

House moaned a different sort of moan. He collapsed onto the bed, defeated. Rachel climbed onto the bed, awake.

"She's with you, I would think," Cuddy replied. "You went to bed with her."

"She's not in my bed."

"Did you check carefully?" Cuddy asked.

"Of course she didn't check carefully," House groaned. "She's four."

"I _did_ check carefully," Rachel replied with indignation. "She's gone. I think she ran away."

"How would a stuffed dog run away?" House asked.

"House," Rachel whined. "She's real." She looked at him stoically.

House hated this kind of conversation. Rachel was smart enough to know the damn dog wasn't real, yet would intermittently insist that they all pretend not only that the stuffed animal lived a full, nuanced life, but that Rachel was dumb enough or babyish enough to truly believe it. It annoyed him on a million levels. He rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling, but then suddenly reached out and grabbed Rachel, tickling her while repeating, "It's a stuffed animal," every time she insisted "She's reeeaaal," between gasping laughs.

Cuddy sat up on the side of her bed and pulled her hair back into an elastic. "C'mon, Rach. Let's go look. Maybe she came home."

"You're enabling!" House bellowed after her.

Cuddy's head reappeared in the doorway, just as House was snuggling back into the sheets to go back to sleep. He opened one eye to acknowledge her. "I know I am, but which one of you are you referring to?" She glared smugly.

"What time is your mother coming?" he replied, deflecting.

"She's getting Rachel from school. I don't even have to stop home. So get your ass up within the hour and say goodbye before I take her to school. That is, if you want me to show up at your apartment with ice cream and nakedness tonight." House grunted his acknowledgement of the order. Then his phone rang and he moaned again. "Oh, goodie," Cuddy commented. "It looks like some less-enabling people are going to make sure you don't screw this up." She turned and padded down the hall.

House picked up his phone. "Mmmhmmmgrr."

"Good morning to you too," said the annoyingly chipper Aussie accent. "We have a case."

"Rrrrrgggrrmmmmgh."

"Great. See you then." And Chase hung up.

 **[H] [H] [H]**

After a cool shower, the leftover scraps of a waffle Rachel didn't finish, and four goodbye hugs, House was finally on his way into the office, his shirt already sweaty from the short walk from his bike to the hospital doors. Cuddy was already there (How did she do that?) and handed him a case file as he walked by at the nurse's station. "Hrmmph."

"Oh, cheer up. Solve it fast and it won't affect our weekend."

House stomp-limped to the elevator and perused the file as he made his way to the conference room. The door hadn't closed behind him yet when Foreman began. "Twenty-one year-old male. Collapses in his apartment while talking with a friend on the phone. No sign of heart trauma or physical trauma. Tox screen is clean except for traces of marijuana. He's awake now, complaining of severe pain and burning in his feet and lower legs."

House glared at Foreman as he tossed his backpack into the chair and sat down. "Thanks. Now can you read me _Goodnight, Moon_?" he snapped, gesturing to the file in his hands.

"Fabry's," Taub offered. "He's had this rash before, but it usually goes away. He thought it was from the locker room."

"Kidneys are fine," Chase pointed out.

"So far," Taub shot back.

"He has a history of headaches, fatigue, and frequent nosebleeds. We need to CT his head," Chase asserted.

"There's no brain tumor," Foreman argued. "His white count is elevated. It's an infection."

"Causing fatigue, dizziness, and nosebleeds. Do you think the infection could perhaps be, I dunno, _in his head_?" Chase shot back.

"Could he just be friggin' hot?" House asked, taking off his sport coat.

"Fatigue… dizziness… nosebleeds…" Taub reminded him.

"Sorry, I'll be more specific," House replied. "Could he just be a coke-snorting college student who's friggin' hot?"

"Again, tox screen was clean," Foreman pointed out, "and the skin on his lower extremities is fire engine red. This isn't heat stroke."

"Where there's marijuana, there's all the fun stuff on the other side of the 'gateway,'" House insisted. "Find out where he gets his coke. Then get me some for this weekend."

"He's not on drugs," Taub insisted. "He's an honors student and an athlete."

"Yeah, no reason those over-achievers would be on stimulants. Check his blood for insulin levels, his ears for infection, and his home for drugs," House ordered, pointing to Chase, Taub, and Foreman in turn. "And do it fast. I get three days of naked Cuddy starting at 6pm and I intend that to be hotter than this heat wave."

The team got up and dispersed, while House went to his office and lay down in front of the A/C vent.

 **[H] [H] [H]**

When Chase and Taub entered, Matt was sitting up in bed, talking to his girlfriend. His buddy was sprawled in a chair looking at his phone.

"I'm Dr. Chase. This is Dr. Taub. We're going to run a few tests."

"What kind of tests?" asked Melanie.

"Just to rule out some smaller things before we get into exploring more complex possibilities," Chase explained.

"Complex? Like what?"

"Let's worry about that after these tests."

"Dude," Matt interjected. "You gotta see this." He came over to the bed and the two guys started cracking up over a vid. Taub studied them.

"Matt, do you use any recreational drugs?" he asked.

Matt looked up, then looked at Malcolm, who started stifling a laugh. "No," he answered. "I mean, like what?"

"Drugs. For recreation. As in, not medicinal," Taub explained, irritated.

"I mean… I smoke pot occasionally. I'm in college."

"Nothing more… exciting?" Chase probed as he drew his blood.

"No, man. No. I have too much responsibility to mess with that stuff."

"He's not into that," Melanie chimed in.

"Not even when the responsibility is a little too much? Ever need a pick-me-up?" Taub asked, trying to sound sympathetic.

"No. Never." Matt had grown more serious now.

Taub sighed. "Okay. We'll take your word for it." He approached him with an otoscope. "Turn your left ear to me please." As Taub checked his ear, Matt started growing restless. "What is it?" Taub asked.

"My skin. It's burning more."

Chase pulled back his sheet and shifted his gown. The rash reached halfway up his torso now.

"What does that mean?" Melanie asked.

"It means it's not an ear infection."

 **[H] [H] [H]**

House had fallen asleep in the cold blast on his office floor, and awoke under the disapproving gaze of Wilson, staring straight down at him.

"People walk by your _glass_ office, you know. You could at least pretend to work," he chided.

"Don't question my process. My patient has really hot feet, so I'm testing treatments."

"Hmm. Does he have insomnia too?" Wilson dropped into House's arm chair.

"That's just me catching up because Rachel can't sleep past 6am. She's up before birds."

"Poor you. You have to elbow Cuddy and roll over. That must be so hard on you. No wonder you look like shit."

House glared at him. "Yeah, well, this weekend I can catch up on my beauty sleep." He got himself up off the floor and limped to his desk. "Cuddy's mom is staying at her house for the Fourth of July and Cuddy is staying at _my_ apartment for some pyrotechnics that are illegal in several states." He smirked at Wilson's sneer. "To salute my flag?" Wilson added a slow headshake. "Point is, I've star-spangled my penis and it's gonna be awesome."

"Do you guys ever go out?" Wilson asked pointedly. "Like on dates?" House stared at him, then frowned.

"Oh, no. Don't you start. I don't need you meddling with my perfectly perfect weekend plans," House warned, wagging a finger at him.

"Who's meddling?"

"Who's here?"

"I'm just saying, you seem to spend a lot of your free time tearing each other's clothes off. Which makes sense when you're both busy doctors. But when you get three days together you'd think you could go out in public and do something," Wilson explained.

House sighed and rubbed his forehead. "Why are you here?" Wilson shrugged, feigning casualness. "You _moron_. You talked to Cuddy about this bullshit, didn't you?"

"I didn't mean to," Wilson said, suddenly apologetic. "We were both getting coffee in the cafeteria and talking about the weekend. I ended up telling her how I remember long weekends with my second wife, how we'd never leave the house or room."

"And?" House pressed.

Wilson looked sheepish. "And that maybe that was part of why we ended up growing apart, cuz we never did anything together."

" _Moron!_ " House griped. Then his phone pinged with a text from Cuddy.

 _Maybe we should go out tonight…?_

"Mgmmghrgh."

"Sorry," Wilson offered.

"You're the opposite of a wingman. You're like the guy handing out STD prevention pamphlets outside a club. You hunt down every whiff of sexual pheromones and spray Febreeze all over them."

"Maybe delaying will just make it hotter?" Wilson suggested hopefully.

" _Doing it_ makes it hotter, moron." Chase and Taub entered. " _You_ take your wife out and your marriage sucks," he threw at Taub, who was totally lost.

"Your ability to use Taub's marriage in a myriad of ways to justify your own relationship choices has grown into an art form," Wilson commented.

"It's not diabetes or his ear. The rash is ascending," Chase interrupted. Foreman entered then and they all looked to him. He shrugged.

"Place is clean. He might smoke pot, but he's borrowing his bongs cuz there's no sign of any drug use in the whole place." The room grew silent as they thought.

"Just take her to a movie. Out to dinner," Wilson suggested.

"Who?" Taub asked.

"Your wife," House snapped.

"House is mad because I suggested he and Cuddy actually engage with the world outside his mattress," Wilson summarized, holding both hands up defensively.

"I'm mad because you're a compulsive meddler. Get your own girlfriend and go to your own damn coffeehouses and matinees. Have I mentioned you're a moron?"

"Why don't you like going out?" Taub asked.

"I _like_ staying in. As in, in Cuddy," he said, shooting daggers at Taub with his eyes.

"House hates people," Foreman reminded the group. "There's no mystery here."

"House doesn't like being like everybody else," Chase countered. "God forbid he enter a restaurant where everyone doesn't know he's a genius doctor."

"Says the guy who loves to blend in with his Australian accent and frosted tips," House bit back.

"You're all over-analyzing it," Wilson declared. "House is a hedonist, pure and simple. Sex beats any movie or restaurant out there in terms of unadulterated pleasure."

"And Wilson beats any cock-blocker out there," House added. "Can we stop psychoanalyzing my perfectly perfect personal life and diagnose the patient?"

"I think House is right," Chase chimed in.

"He's not on drugs," Taub insisted.

"No, about the other symptoms. He's tired and achy. What student athlete isn't. And nosebleeds might be nothing. We need to focus on the rash."

"Unless the nosebleeds aren't nothing and he has paraneoplastic syndrome," Foreman posited.

"You were the one who said it isn't a tumor, it's an infection," Chase argued.

"There's no ear infection, no sign of organ failure, and no injury to his body. His home is clean as can be. I'm responding to the data."

House chewed on his thumbnail and stared beyond them. "CT his head," House then ordered. "And get the romantic friend out and ask the bromantic friend what he's been snorting, injecting, or smoking."

"Ohmigod, it's not drugs!" Taub shouted.

"Ohmigod, people lie!" House imitated back. "Now scram. I have to evil eye Wilson for at least five more minutes to make him pay for his sins."

The team filed out, offering Wilson sympathetic glances.

 **[H] [H] [H]**

House was getting a soda in the cafeteria when his team found him. "Tell me he has a secret stash or an inoperable tumor, or you're all fired."

"Sorry, mate. Head CT's clean, and his BFF also privately attests to his responsible nature," Chase reported, handing the scan to him. House held it up to the light. "I'm not your 'mate' when you delay my 'mating,'" he groused.

He went and sat by Wilson and his team followed him like ducklings. They stood around the table while he sat, grabbing half of Wilson's sandwich.

"Sympathetic dystrophy," offered Taub. "He fainted in a sauna last year. Perhaps he has a small spinal cord injury." Everyone was silent in thought.

"I don't have time for exploratory spinal surgery," House complained. He watched Wilson slamming the bottom of a ketchup bottle with his palm. "It's sacrilege that you dip Reubens in ketchup."

"I think not having _consent_ for exploratory spinal surgery might be your bigger hurdle," Foreman cautioned.

Suddenly a huge gob of ketchup shot onto Wilson's plate. He promptly smeared a corner of his sandwich in it and stared House down while he took a huge smug bite. But House wasn't paying attention. "What was he doing when he decided to eat floor?" he asked.

"He was on the phone," Chase answered.

"Where?"

"In his apartment."

"Is his apartment air-conditioned?"

"No," Taub replied. "He had been taking a cold shower because of the heat. His girlfriend thought maybe he slipped and fell."

"Temperature-induced erythromelalgia. He's got polycythemia vera," House said, dipping a fry in Wilson's ketchup. "Start him on hydroxyurea and a phlebotomy schedule to thin out the extra red blood cells. Should clear up the skin issues, and the headaches and fatigue." House took a gulp of his soda and looked pointedly at Taub. "He'll still get nosebleeds from all the coke, but they'll be nice and runny."

"For God's sake, he's not on coke!" Taub insisted. "He's a good kid."

"Go treat the pothead."

His team all considered for a moment before deciding he was probably right. "Mind if I check the red count first," Foreman asked, "since your judgment may be clouded by visions of Cuddy's ass?"

"That thing clouds everything," House agreed, eating another fry. "Go. Test. Treat. And don't find another case until Tuesday." His team started leaving. "Noon on Tuesday!" he called after them. House focused his eyes on Wilson. "That's how it's done, my friend. I got the mad skills."

Cuddy was walking by, giving a tour to a potential donor. She pointed in their direction, then excused herself for a moment and came by the table. "Don't do anything juvenile for the next five minutes. I just pointed you out at our diagnostics head." Houses nodded obediently. "How's your case?"

"Done like you on prom night," House replied. "By which I mean so mean efficiently it was boring."

She smirked at him. "Terrific. Think about what you want to do tonight. I'll be over by six." She headed back over to her guests.

House glared at Wilson. Wilson stared back and said, "That's how it's done, my friend. I got the mad skills." He bit his ketchup-soaked Reuben for emphasis.

 **[H] [H] [H]**

House sat at the desk in his apartment in nothing but his underwear. The building's A/C unit was broken due to overload and he had every window open to promote a breeze that might combat the stifling heat. He was aimlessly surfing websites looking for weekend activities in the vicinity when Cuddy's text pinged.

 _Getting ice cream. Rocky road, mint chip, or strawberry?_

House grinned. Weekend Cuddy was his favorite. All that Monday-through-Friday discipline resulted in a hedonistic and indulgent woman with just a little nudge.

 _All of the above._

 _Bad._

 _Bad is chocolate-Vicodin swirl._

 _Touché._

He awaited her arrival by returning to his search for something "date-y" to do. Leave it to Wilson to get it into Cuddy's head that sitting around and screwing wasn't the basis for a healthy relationship. Wilson wouldn't know a healthy relationship if one served him divorce papers. But Cuddy was more easily swayed, so as much as he'd prefer to spend a three-day weekend—with Rachel babysat, no less—ordering in food and wearing as little as possible, he was trying to appease his girlfriend's best-friend-triggered neurosis.

A gust of wind blew in and gave him a momentary chill across his sweaty back. At least going out would get them out of this heat. Then Cuddy entered, her suitcoat already shirked to reveal a lacy camisole.

Or not. Heat could be nice.

She carried a grocery bag, her enormous purse, and an overnight bag to his kitchen, her stilettos clicking purposefully on the wood floor. She glared at him as he leaned back in his chair to watch her. "No, no. Please don't get up," she sniped.

He smirked at her. "Bum leg."

"As in, the leg is attached to a bum?" she asked, sticking cartons of ice cream in his freezer. She took the drink he'd left for her in there and took a long swig.

"I thought you like my attachments."

Cuddy sighed, standing in the middle of the kitchen, her bags plunked on the floor on either side of her. She unzipped her skirt and wriggled it down her legs, hooking her stockings on the way and stepping out of her shoes in one swift, smooth motion so that in the span of five seconds she was standing in her panties, still glaring playfully at him. "How is it so damn hot?" she complained.

"I ask myself that every time," he murmured, taking in her half-naked shape.

They stared at each other, both barely dressed, both unwinding for a long weekend, and they knew what they would typically do in this moment. They were both picturing it. Imagining it. Which is why Cuddy eyed his crotch for a moment with an amused expression. "Is that an erection in your boxers, or are you just happy to see me?"

"Come see for yourself," he dared.

Cuddy bit her lip, grinning. She started to slowly sidle toward him, and House took his drink from the desk as he watched her, taking a long sip. When she reached him she took the drink from his hand as she straddled his lap. As she leaned to place it on the desk, his web search caught her eye. "Ooooh, where are we going?" she asked.

House had his mouth pressed to her chest already and replied, "Hmmm?"

"Did you find something fun we could do?"

House pulled back and looked up at her distracted face. "I thought we were doing it."

Cuddy glanced at him before reaching for the mouse to scroll through the list. "I mean for an actual date, House. You know that."

"I don't know why you listen to Wilson. We have alcohol. We have ice cream. We have this," he said, running his hands under her top and up her sides. "We're self-sufficient. Off the grid. Sustainable. Why go out?"

Cuddy sat back onto his lap and looked at him. "Don't you want go out with me?"

House started lifting her camisole. "Of course I want to gown down on y— out with you," he murmured against her neck.

Cuddy shimmied her top back down, though. "So let's go somewhere," she persisted, but her breathing hitched a little when his hands slid to her thighs, the pressure of his thumbs and palms pushing them open a little.

"Where do you wanna go?" he said into her mouth before they kissed. Cuddy arched back, pushing her body against his as his hands slid up her back.

"Dinner?" she whispered to the ceiling.

House swiveled the chair and positioned her between his body and the desk. Cuddy's hands lay flat on the desk for balance. "Not hungry," he growled, pulling at her top again.

"Drink?" she laughed, sitting up to push him back.

He pulled her closer so his face was nestled between her lace-clad breasts. "Already drunk."

Cuddy put a hand on each side of his head. "Movie," she declared, looking into his glazed blue eyes.

"Fine," he relented. Cuddy spun around in his lap to look at the computer. She navigated to look at titles and showtimes. After several minutes arguing about films as House sucked and nipped along her neck and shoulders, they agreed on one that started in twenty-five minutes, halfway across town.

"We have to get dressed," Cuddy insisted. "I can drive." She leapt from his lap and walked to the kitchen where she had deposited her bag of weekend clothes. House followed her like a puppy, including the whining. When she pulled a soft tee shirt from her bag, he hooked his fingers under the hem of the camisole for the hundredth time.

"Can I help you take this off finally?" Cuddy laughed and raised her arms, allowing him to peel the hot, silky fabric off of her. House immediately pulled the tee shirt from her hand and chucked it across the kitchen, kneeling down to kiss her stomach and start pulling at her panties.

"House!" Cuddy scolded with a smile. "You're not helping." She stumbled toward her discarded tee shirt with House hanging onto her like a toddler with separation anxiety. Cuddy reached the shirt and pulled it on so that the hem draped onto House's head. "Go. Get. Dressed," she commanded.

House, still on his knees, dug his hand into her bag searching for something that felt like shorts, but dug his other hand into her ass, pulling her hips toward him. Just as Cuddy was trying to decide whether to scold him or relent, he sat back and held her shorts out for her to step into.

"Wait a minute," she mused. "You're putting clothes _on_ me? Has Hell frozen over?"

House pouted as she stepped into the shorts. "It's 110 degrees and you're half-naked but refusing to have sex with me. This _is_ Hell."

"Aww, you poor devil," she teased. "Let's go find some air conditioning."

 **[H] [H] [H]**

House and Cuddy did manage to make the movie, by the grace of endless previews. They made their way in the dark to two seats a little farther to the side than they would have liked, but at least House had an aisle seat and could stretch out his leg when needed.

As he watched the film, Cuddy leaned her head on his shoulder and sipped on the soda they were sharing. He was surprised that it was sort of nice to spend time out in the world with her. The guy coughing every twenty-three seconds and the lady with the piercing laugh still bothered him, but there was a certain satisfaction being around people with Cuddy. Somehow it drove home the idea that she was his.

When Cuddy removed the plastic lid from the cup and began chewing the remaining ice, House whispered in her ear, "They say that's a sign of sexual frustration."

"Or iron deficiency," she murmured, eyes still on the screen.

"Either can be treated with a simple oral supplement," he mused.

"Thank you, doctor." Crunch.

House continued to pepper her with his quips and criticisms of the movie. She responded in classic Cuddy fashion, matching his wit and calling him out on his jadedness and misanthropy. In the packed theater she heard him. Among all these strangers, she knew him. Out in the universe, they orbited each other.

After the film, House leaned against a pillar when Cuddy went to pee. He was observing couples, groups of friends, solo customers, trying to deduce their stories when he heard the cries. Several people had exclaimed as they surrounded the woman passed out on the lobby floor. Several began calling for an ambulance while others called out for possible doctors in the theater.

"Oh, crap," House muttered, limping hesitantly over to the commotion. "I'm a doctor," he told people in order to part the crowd and gain access to the woman. He crouched down painfully to find her unbreathing, her heart stopped. She was pushing seventy, overweight. It appeared to be sudden cardiac arrest, likely courtesy of that drop of "extra butter" that stopped the camel's heart.

House began CPR without much thought to the woman. It was too simple to be interesting. _Breathe once. Breathe twice._ His principal thought was whether Cuddy would be able to find him. Despite the drama, it was a huge multiplex. _Pump 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10._ The people in the crowd surrounding him were staring, clutching their loved ones as if a tornado or predator had caused this and could attack them too. _Breathe once. Breathe twice._ Surely Cuddy was out of the bathroom now. Should he stand up and look for her? _Pump 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10._

But Cuddy found him, following the trail to the scene. She, too, parted the crowd with her credentials, then wordlessly took over the breathing as House continued pumping the woman's chest. After a few more cycles, they noted that she was turning blue. Cuddy dug in her purse and found her small medical kit. House read her mind and shouted for a straw. Someone handed him one out of their cup.

"A clean straw, for chrissake. What is this, Nam?" he griped. Someone handed him a paper-wrapped straw and he opened it just as Cuddy made the incision in the woman's throat, the onlookers gasping and even screaming. She breathed into the straw. _Once. Twice._ House continued pumping her chest. "Of course you carry that kit around," he mocked. "Goody-goody." Cuddy rolled her eyes as she breathed again. _Once. Twice._ House finally got a heartbeat, but the woman remained unconscious.

Paramedics arrived and House told them the events and status as they moved her to a gurney and replaced the tracheotomy tube and bagged her. As they began rushing her toward the door, Cuddy took over because she could keep up better. House stood there and was soon embraced by another woman. "She's my sister. Thank you," she said, before rushing after her. He leaned against another pillar until Cuddy walked back to him, brushing her hands against each other—her tic when she was trying to let a matter go. She stopped in front of House and looked up at him.

The crowd around them started applauding, a few men clapping House on the back. "Thank God you came out tonight," someone commented.

House scowled. "She still might die, idiots."

Cuddy glared at him. "She might not. And if she does, it won't be on a concessions floor." She tugged his hand to start them walking.

"Yeah, who'd wanna go surrounded by happy people and popcorn when you could die around bitchy nurses and the smell of urine?"

Cuddy intentionally bumped his body with hers. "Does anything make you happy?"

House bumped her back. "Watching you open-mouth kiss another woman is pretty awesome," he teased.

Cuddy snorted. "Not bad for our first threesome."

"In public even," House added. "You're such an exhibitionist." They reached the car and House looked at her over the roof before they got in. "Let me put it this way. If I'd gone to this movie by my miserable self and resuscitated a woman in the lobby, I'd be walking to my car alone without snarking with you."

"So witty banter is the key to your heart?" Cuddy arched a skeptical eyebrow.

"Idiot," he grumbled. " _'With you_ ,'" he repeated, emphasizing it with air quotes. "You make me ha-ghjfb-py," he confessed, coughing to garble the last word as he got in the car. Cuddy slid in after him, saying nothing, but resting her hand gingerly on his thigh as she drove them home.

 **[H] [H] [H]**

When they returned to House's hot apartment, they both walked toward the bathroom. "Don't tell me you gotta pee again," House teased.

"No," Cuddy said shyly. "I… wanna brush my teeth."

House laughed. "What's the matter, Cuddy? All that do-gooding's left a bad taste in your mouth?" But he, too, was bee-lining for his toothbrush. And they playfully wrestled over the toothpaste.

"Just because I care about humanity doesn't mean I want to taste them all," she explained through minty foam.

"You should make bumper stickers for the U.N."

They both spat, then swigged mouthwash. As they swished, House began tugging at Cuddy's clothes and pushing her against the wall. Cuddy protested with closed-mouth yelling, pointing at her full mouth with wide eyes, as if that weren't half of why House was doing this. He leaned his long torso over the sink to spit, but left her blocked.

"Come on, now. You know how to swallow," he teased, unbuttoning her shorts.

Cuddy grimaced in disgust at his joke, which made him laugh. She pushed him on the chest and held up a warning finger, threatening to spit on him. He started laughing and wrestling with her. "Oooh, Cuddy, kinky." Then she reached down and slid her hand over his scar and narrowed her eyes at him. "You wouldn't," House tested. She arched an eyebrow in response. House stepped out of her way and she spit her mouthwash into the sink. "Threatening a cripple," he chided. "You're cutthroat."

"You think I got to be Dean of Medicine with just my big brains and butt?" She winked at him as she wiped her mouth on a towel. She walked into his bedroom and flopped backwards onto the bed. "I wish I were dating a man with A/C," she complained.

"Oh sure. Go for the Homo Sapien with his air-conditioned cave, modern amenities, and love of wine bars and theater," he retorted, climbing on top of her. "But you know the Neanderthal is the one who will fuck your brains out." He started fumbling with her shorts.

"You're so romantic."

"It's the date talking." He slid her shorts of and threw them over his shoulder, and Cuddy sat up to start opening his jeans. House pulled his tee shirt off while she did this. "Why didn't your mother take Rachel to her house so we could be doing this at a reasonable temperature," he griped.

But then Cuddy pushed him back against the wall and was on her knees, her mouth around him. She stopped for a moment to say, "Stop talking about my mother," then returned her attention to his sex.

For once, House was speechless, leaning his bare back again the cool wall and feeling Cuddy's hot mouth all around him. She slid her hands down his sides, over his legs. He let the fingers of one hand tangle in her hair while the others pressed on his temples to try to keep from passing out from the heat and the… well, heat. She took him in and eased him out at a methodically torturous pace, enjoying having him at her mercy for once. When she started to move her mouth with more speed and intention, he was losing himself in the pleasure of the sensations—her tongue, her lips—but as that irresistible tension began to coil within him, he wanted more. Every cell of him wanted to be moving on this woman, grinding his hips against hers, feeling her legs around him. He pulled at her and she stood and grinned up at him.

House looked in her smiling eyes and his brain flitted around through the events of the day. Her friendly chiding in the morning; Wilson's claim that they shouldn't stay holed up together all the time; the smell of her hair on his shoulder during the movie; Chase's accusation that he needed constant attention; Cuddy's admirable calm and focus during the trache; Foreman's claim that he hated humanity; Cuddy threatening to spit mouthwash at him; Wilson calling him a hedonist; Cuddy undressing in his kitchen; the patient whose temperature transitions left his body spinning to adjust…

"Stop thinking," she told him, seeing his wheels turn.

"Not my strong suit," he said back quietly.

"Then fuck my brains out." She smiled.

House cupped her face in his hands and kissed her. First lightly brushing his lips against hers, then deeply, pulling her to him. Still kissing her, he guided her back to the bed and pushed her backwards. He was so full of her that he was about to tell her how much he loved her—to try to somehow express that amount—when she beat him to it.

"I love you," she whispered against his lips.

They had a pact. They had agreed not to say "I love you too." They felt like it would make it obligatory and reflexive. They had promised only to say it when they were really aware of it, not as a pat response, so now he felt he shouldn't let the same words roll off his tongue.

So instead he let his tongue roll across her body. "I don't hate everyone," he said into her neck. "I don't hate you." He felt her laugh a little in his arms. "And I don't need attention," he said to her cleavage. "Except yours." Cuddy pushed up on her elbows and looks down at him, kissing his way down her body. "And sudden changes," he told her stomach, "can shock the system."

"What are you talking about?" Cuddy asked him, breathless.

He looked up at her, his blue eyes clear. "I'm a hedonist."

She smirked. "Yeah. And?"

"Everything you do…" He trailed off, kissing the inside of one of her thighs while he peeled her panties off.

Cuddy smiled and flopped back on the bed. "Makes you ha-ghjfb-py?" She faked a cough.

He answered with his mouth to her heat, causing her cough to transition into a moan. She held his head and rolled her hips with his movements. She felt his tongue opening her, his lips sucking gently at her clit. She forgot trying to figure out everything he'd said and thought only about what he was doing to her body. His tongue swirled over her, his fingers entering her slowly and deeply. The heat of his mouth was suddenly the only heat she felt. When his hand reached up and his fingers ran over her nipple she gasped, "House." He answered with a groan and she was falling, her hands reaching instinctively for something to hold onto and finding only sheets and air. But he held onto her, her body in his large hands writhing with her pleasure. She was sweating from the temperature and from her bliss and she felt her skin slide against his palms.

She was still shaking when he yanked on her legs and pulled her down to the edge of the bed, where he stood and threw her feet up on his shoulders. He slid inside of her in one long thrust that made them both gasp and moan. He went to his hands over her, moving his hips rhythmically against her, groaning with the sensation of even more heat against his body. Suddenly the temperature was erotic, adding to the intensity of the sex. House couldn't stop himself from vocalizing with each smooth, wet motion in and out of her. Cuddy was reaching for him, her thumb sliding over his lips until he bit it gently. She could hear his desire even more then and he could tell from her rocking hips and soft cries that it made her happy to see, hear, and feel him happy. She was hedonistic for his hedonism.

When she pulled him to her and slid her legs so that her knees hooked on his shoulders, he began pushing into her with thoughtless abandon. He caved completely to his desires and fucked her like it would save her life. She began to call out, nonsense about God and heat and fucking, and he let himself be carried over the edge, answering her with caveman noises that expressed ha-ghjfb-ppiness. For full minutes they came and kissed and clawed at each other.

He collapsed onto her only briefly, their wet skin overheating within moments. He rolled off and they lay sprawled sideways across his bed, catching their breaths and already replaying it all in their minds, releasing small moans of memory. They gradually slowed their heart rates and lay in the dim summer light, a slight breeze from the window cooling their skin.

"I like going out with you," Cuddy murmured sleepily.

"Mmm," House agreed, his eyes closed as he basked in post-coital bliss.

"I also like staying in with you."

"Mmmmm!"

"I really wish you had air conditioning right now."

"Mmm."

"You talk to me more when we go out."

"I'm a man of action," he slurred.

Cuddy laughed. "Right now you look like a wilted vegetable."

"I'm recouping from our big outing. Ice cream would help."

Cuddy sighed and got up to walk toward the kitchen. "And they say chivalry is dead."

"Mmm."

 **[H] [H] [H]**

House woke to see Cuddy doing yoga in her underwear in his room. He approved. He caught her eye as he sat up a little.

"I made coffee," she told him, nodding at the bedside table.

House looked over at the steaming mug. "Thanks."

"But we have to go out to breakfast," she said, her face looking at him upside down from between her legs. "All we have is ice cream, peanut butter, and Cheerios." She changed poses a few times until she ended up in a lunge with her ass toward House, her back arched. She saw his approving leer. "Or we could stay in," she offered, winking. "I like Cheerios."

"Look at you, enabling me again," he said in a gruff morning voice.

"You think I got to be your girlfriend with just my big brains and butt?"

He looked at the latter approvingly. "Those are nice… But the enabling frosts the brains and butt cake."

"Gross," Cuddy snorted. Then, after a pause, she said "I want cake. Who would deliver cake?"

House laughed, sipped his coffee, and got his turn… "Have I told you I love you?"

Cuddy changed directions and stood facing him, her hands on her hips. "Yeah, yeah. I thought you were a man of action." She bit her lip suggestively.

House plunked down his coffee, sat on the edge of the bed, rubbed his thigh for a few seconds, then stood and grabbed Cuddy around the waist, tossing her onto the bed. "Assume the next pose," he ordered, sliding up her body.

They didn't go out again for weeks; it was too hot.

[Type text]


End file.
